


great silence.

by beatrixfranklin



Series: endings [2]
Category: Call the Midwife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 10:20:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25469200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beatrixfranklin/pseuds/beatrixfranklin
Summary: nonnatus house suffers a loss. everyone hurts differently.
Series: endings [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845115
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	great silence.

It hit everybody differently.

For Trixie, it was like a bomb had gone off, disrupting the peaceful serenity she had created. It had been her who had felt the old womans heartbeat fade out. It had been her haunting shriek cutting through the halls of Nonnatus, a terrifying contrast to the well put together persona she held usually.

At first, she wept and wept, shaking in Sister Julienne's arms until she physically couldn't choke up anymore tears. She knelt at the old womans bedside, whispering silent prayers to a God she still wasn't certain of her belief in. Thinking of the times she had spent with the woman, the only real grandmother figure she had ever had. All the cake and pots of jam that had gone missing, their disappearance always seeming to be a mystery. Trixie would give up cake forever and never eat another drop of jam to have even just another precious minute with the eldest nun.

The weeks went on, the world spinning endlessly, but Trixie was still. Loss and grief was never an easy thing for her, she had learnt that when her best friend passed, but then she was in Portofino. It was easier to grieve with no responsibilities, easy to sob a day away on the Italian Riviera. It was harder to heal when performing insulin rounds and deliveries. 

Bereavment came to an end, it couldn't last forever, not with her colleagues struggling too. Her loud, broken expression of grief had shifted to silent tears at the sight of an ailing patient, especially those who were older women. Trixie suddenly found that a packet of Sobranies lasted her a day, maybe two, instead of four or five. Nausea crept over her far too often and she couldn't shake it. Too many times, the bottle returned to her head, but Valerie's stash was close monitored and kept under lock and key for that very reason, even more so now. 

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't heal, in fact, she wasn't sure if she ever could. The loneliness was grand- nobody else could feel what she felt. Jenny had left her, so had Sister Mary Cynthia. Chummy was god knows where and even Patsy and Delia where nowhere to be seen. She felt as though she too was being forced into a great silence. 

×××××××××××××

For Valerie, Sister Monica Joan's departure hit her closer than she was ready for. Military work had prepared her for the experience of loss, but it moved fast and tears dried in an instant if they ever fell at all.

However, the whole ordeal of the death of an ailing, sweet old woman, had hit too close. What followed was the building of a wall she thought she had demolished for good.

Trixie's scream told her everything she needed to know. It was Sister Julienne and Val who ran to hold Trixie as she cried beside the woman's bed, after days of close vigil. 

Trixie was suffering, as was Val, but they suffered differently. Trixie, despite her sarcasm and often coldness, wore her heart on her sleeve. Often, the nurse wore no makeup for duty, knowing it would be running down her cheeks by noon. Valerie, on the other hand, was devoid. Elsie had barely processed for her, the guilt still lingering and stabbing her in the heart every so often. 

What resulted was Valerie feeling too little of everything. Lucille, who knew the eldest nun the least, was trying to keep her steady, trying to make her laugh, or smile, or cry, or anything. The woman had shut off. Her work was immaculate, as always, but the twinkle was gone, the light snuffed out. The passing of her grandmother had cut deep and was only beginning to heal, she had no space to process another womans death, and one she held dear to her at that. 

Sister Monica Joan was always making Valerie smile, her infatuation with Doctor Who warming the young womans heart every time. The old woman had so many quirks, her delight at the cream on the milk meant Valerie couldn't even open the gold top without thinking of her. She was everywhere, even her chair at the head of the table caught the rays of light coming in through the gaps. 

Her wall only gained height. Valerie had hit empty.

××××××××××××

Sister Julienne was silent. Not in the empty, reluctant way that Val was. Not in the 3am, tearless sobbing way that Trixie could be. She was silent.

Sister Monica Joan was her longest colleague, one she looked up to immensely in both spiritual matters and when it came to their shared profession. Despite the nun giving everyone the run around more than a few times, Sister Julienne adored her, held an admiration and a love for her that ran much beyond friendship. The nuns great age meant Julienne often held her as a maternal figure of sorts, a guidance for her spirituality and her work. Her departure had to be honoured, along with her life.

Sister Julienne had heard the scream echo through Nonnatus, known exactly what it had meant and what it carried. She ran straight there, finding Trixie knelt beside the bed, the bony frail hand of the senior nun clutched in her own, her other hand clasped over her aching heart, her sobs heaving and full of sorrow. 

As soon as she had seen the sight, Sister Julienne's motherly instincts kicked in. She held Trixie to her chest, her arms tight and warm as the young midwife sobbed. Sister Hilda sat at the other side of the bed, having already blessed Monica Joan, sending her on her eternal journey. Silent tears fell down her cheeks too, for a sister lost.

No words had been exchanged, the two women who had known her the longest simply sitting together in each others arms, tears falling rapidly from each.

It was that night that Sister Julienne announced she would be extending her great silence. The addition of the two newest nuns allowed her to revoke herself from duty for a short while, along with the young blonde midwife who was very much not coping. In the following weeks, Sister Julienne barely left the chapel, her wooden cross barely leaving her hands. It became commonplace for her face to suddenly become wet with tears as she spent her days and nights pleading with Him, discussing everything she wished she had done differently, said differently. 

If she could go back, she would take the old nuns ramblings in good stride, take note, rather than passing it off as ramblings of an aching mind. If she could go back, she would ignore the disappearance of scones and jam, turn a blind eye to the biscuit tin that was suddenly a lot lighter with no culprit. But there was no going back. 

Sister Monica Joan was gone. Trixie wept, Valerie closed, Sister Julienne was silent.


End file.
